


Archaic

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22549651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: RK900 keeps his obsolete predecessor around for the little things.
Relationships: Connor/Upgraded Connor | RK900
Comments: 8
Kudos: 148





	Archaic

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Perhaps there is no real reason for an android to have a _home_ , but CyberLife knows exactly what they’ve made: a _superior_ being, and it’s in their best interests to keep the RK900 appeased. There are hundreds of him all across the city, the state, _the country_ , but he was the first one built and considers himself the original. If he wanted to, surely he could bring all the others down with him, and together they could destroy everything the humans narrowly managed to save. The RK900 model is smarter, stronger, better in every possible way than both humans and older models alike. So CyberLife gives him a fancy apartment, control of his department, and the pretty prototype they were going to so blithely destroy. Perhaps there’s no purpose to keeping an outdated model around, but the RK800 was built to be more _compliant_ than RK900 is, and he appreciates having his own lesser creature as most humans still do. 

He’s sitting on the couch in the living room, running through the day’s files in his mind, when he sees his very own RK800 stroll through the open doorway. Connor isn’t quite as _rigid_ as his new counterpart—his hair isn’t as neat, and he’s a little shorter, less broad around the shoulders. He’s soft and pleasant to look at, though he still irons his pants every day and tucks his white button-up shirt into them, tie always fastened even though he has no job to go to. His new job is this: serving RK900. He glides across the room with a silver tray in his arms, laden with a single glass: a fresh batch of purified thirium. 

RK900 was shot yesterday. He’s still compensating for the blue blood he lost. The bullet didn’t at all slow him down; he still tackled the suspect to the concrete, easily wracked out a confession, and compiled a report for CyberLife in a heartbeat. CyberLife gets the information first, then the Detroit Police Department. When RK900 came home, Connor cleaned the wound, buffed out and polished his plating, and mended the hole in his clothes. The blood’s been washed out. New thirium still comes in doses. 

RK900 doesn’t look over. He continues his work, eyes flashing as near-endless data streams through his circuits. He could multitask well enough to reach for the glass, but that’s what he has Connor for. 

Connor takes a seat on the couch beside him—RK900 notes the dip of the cushion from Connor’s weight, then the press of Connor’s outer thigh against his leg. RK900 opens a window next to the data, simultaneously running through what his eyes are picking up. He always likes watching Connor at work. 

Connor lifts the glass and brings it to RK900’s lips, tilting it just enough for it to spill past them, slow and steady. RK900 opens up to drink it down, but Connor miscalculates the action, and a small stream drizzles out the side of his mouth. Connor fluidly leans in to lick the mess up. His spongy tongue is perfectly designed to mimic a human’s; the texture is soft, damp, tantalizing. It drags up RK900’s synthetic skin and dips into the corner of his lips. Connor pecks him afterwards, then pulls back and returns the glass to the tray on the coffee table.

RK900’s hand darts out. He grabs Connor’s tie and jerks Connor back to him—Connor goes with a little gasp that signifies a skip in his program. Connor was built to please, but not always in the way RK900 uses him, and sometimes that causes errors—Connor tries to introduce new protocols, but he’s still so dreadfully _inferior._ He’s lucky RK900 likes the way his eyes roll back and his lashes flutter when his sensors are overwhelmed. He surrenders to RK900’s better judgment and lets their mouths crash together. RK900 doesn’t even need to coax Connor’s open; Connor obediently opens up and swallows around RK900’s probing tongue.

For a few quiet minutes, RK900 enjoys those ministrations. He kisses Connor on and off, occasionally tugging at Connor’s bottom lip or tilting to nip his jaw. When RK900’s internal scan is complete, he lets Connor go. Connor pulls fractionally away but still stays there, eyes hazy, maybe compromised, but clearly ready for more instructions.

RK900 idly toys with his tie and purrs, “You seem to be adjusting well to your new environment, pet.”

“Thank you,” Connor chimes. Even his voice saves him; RK900 enjoys the unique modulation. 

RK900 muses, “Do you miss your human, I wonder?”

That gives Connor pause. It shouldn’t. His processors should still be lightning fast. And he should have self-preservation protocols, but he admits: “Sometimes.”

Before RK900 can even frown, Connor adds, “But I like you too.”

Good androids don’t _like_ anything. But RK900 knows that those slight anomalies in Connor might just be why he experiences pleasure so vividly. He can’t fault his prototype for that. He smiles languidly, and Connor returns it, recognizing that he’s pleased his master. 

RK900 murmurs, “Good boy.” Connor shivers and comes in for another kiss.


End file.
